Victim
by Emmy23
Summary: A family is brutally gunned down in their own home, and only one survives the massacre; Can Greg and the other CSI's give the survivor hope by finding the killer?
1. Awake

A/N: Sorry this chapter is kind of short... It's sort of like a preview for what most of the story is going to be like...

Voices. That was the first thing that I recognized. Two people, nearby. They were pretty garbled, so I couldn't understand what was being said, but I could hear that one was a deep voice, a man probably. The other was as slightly higher pitch, but I was pretty sure it was male. It was hard to tell because they were talking in hushed voices.

The second thing I recognized was a head-splitting headache. My brow creased in pain. A second later, I could hear the voices speed up, and I felt a warm hand on my shoulder. I took this as I good sign, and sprung my eyes open. A glaring white light greeted me, feeling like needles in my eyes. Instantly, my eyes started tearing up. I stifled a moan of pain, and blinked my eyes several times until things started coming into focus.

I was in a white-plastered room with an odd antiseptic smell. There was a plain wooden door inset into the wall across from me, a little bit to the left. A small sliver of light filtered through the closed drapes, and a cozy lamp was lit on a plastic bedside table to my right.

Leaning on an uncomfortable-looking orange chair beside the bedside table was stocky, middle-aged white guy with small eyes and a no-nonsense hair cut that was receding at the hairline. His thin lips and rather large nose were spread evenly apart on his slack-skinned face. He had a stubborn chin, and a face that said he had received more than his share of worry in his life. Beside him stood a tall, attractive African-American man with unusually gorgeous green eyes and a small, well-kept afro that had a golden hue to it. They both had equally concerned looks on their faces.

The two made a comical pair, and I probably would have laughed if I hadn't been so confused.

To make this clear, I raised a quizzical eyebrow. They obviously didn't get the hint as they continued to stare at me with the same troubled looks.

I sat up on my elbows and cleared my throat.

I guess I'll have to take it slowly, I thought dryly.

"Where am I? And who are you guys?" I asked in a mildly raspy voice.

The stocky one stepped forward. "My name is Detective Jim Brass, and this is CSI Warrick Brown," he introduced, motioning to his colleague. "You are at Desert Palm Hospital."

"And why would I be here?" I asked politely, trying frantically to keep my temper in check. I often have problems keeping my anger in control when people insist on skipping around the actual point, hoping that I will figure it out so they don't actually have to explain it.

The detective raised an eyebrow. My anger vanished, and I grinned. He did it very well.

Mr. Brass ignored my smile, and continued. "Don't you remember anything that happened to you?"

My grin slowly faded, and I was suddenly annoyed again.

"What are you talking about? What do you mean "anything that happened to you"?" I could feel worry starting to cloud my brain, but I pushed it back. I had no reason to worry. Yet.

Mr. Brown spoke for the first time. He had a deep, musical voice. He must have been the one who had woken me up.

"What's the last thing you remember, Kaytlin?

"It's Kate," I responded automatically. "Sorry," I added quickly.

I thought back. I remembered walking home after school, go up to my room, and working on a paper for English clearly. After that, the pictures got a little blurry, like when you forget to use flash on your camera. I concentrated hard, trying to grasp the picture. I sighed and shook my head.

"I don't remember anything after getting home and working on English."

Now, as I regarded their faces, I saw their demeanors change: Warrick Brown looked extremely uneasy, and Jim Brass had stone-cold determination.

"Kate," Jim intoned. His voice had lost all the business-likeness it had held before, and was replaced by kind concerned, and, maybe a little bit of pity. "About two weeks ago, we got a call from one your neighbors saying that they had heard shots coming from your house. When we arrived…-"

I cut him off. "Where is my family?"

"Kate…-" Warrick started.

I cut him off, too. "Where is my family?" I repeated, panic rising in my voice.

"Kate," Brass replied with an edge to his voice, "You're family is dead."

LIke it... Hate it? Please review...


	2. More Bad News

A/N: I lied. This chapter really isn't much longer than the other one, but, hopefully, they will gradually get larger.

I sat there is shocked silence. I was completely dead to the world, my entire body feeling like ice. My heart was numb. I couldn't move, I couldn't breath. There was a roaring sound in my ears, like when you put your ear up to a shell and listen to the echo of the ocean, but magnified by a 100. Distantly, I thought I could hear a rapid beeping sound. It felt like I was falling into a dark, endless well. Suddenly, it all went black.

My eyes flickered open. I had a nauseating headache, and my arms throbbed with red-hot pain. My chest ached, and the only parts of my body that didn't seem to be hurt were my legs, which seemed oddly without sensation.

"Welcome back," said a calm, accented voice to my left. Startled, I snapped my head around to stare at the man sitting beside me. My crystalline blue eyes were met by a pair of soul-full brown ones.

The young man had a tanned complexion that went well with his dark, shiny locks. After a closer inspection, I discovered a fit, somewhat stocky body, and a set of perfect teeth.

The handsome man shone a bright half-smile, and I could feel a blush creeping up my neck. Before I could start worrying whether my hair was okay, or if I had food in my teeth, it all came back to be in a rush, almost like a physical blow to the stomach. Tears distorted my vision, and I could feel my shoulders droop.

Still, as I sat there, feverishly trying to block the sorrow, the man stared at me, a pitifully pained expression on his face.

"Kate." I felt a warm hand touch my mine. "Kate, I'm CSI Nick Stokes. I'm investigating your family's…um…"

"Murder," I supplied dryly, the word bubbling out of my throat before I could stop it.

"Yes." Even though this Nick man must have been used to dealing with victims, he still look uncomfortable.

"What are you doing to solve their murder, Mr. Stokes?" I asked coolly. If I just imagined that it was someone else's family I was talking about, it was much easy to distance myself from it.

"We are doing everything in our power to find out who did this. There is not much more I, or anyone else, can tell you," Nick responded, his voice luke-warm despite my icy disposition. "I came here to ask you if you can remember anything since our last visit."

Grimly, I set my mouth in a rigid line, willing myself not to break down.

_If you break down into tears_, I reasoned with myself, _you won't be any help_.

"Okay," I muttered encouragingly under my breath to myself, making Mr. Stokes give me a puzzled expression.

"Do you remember anything, anything at all?" Although this man was kind, he was rather impatient.

"Look, I can't remember anything. The last thing I can remember is working on homework after school in my bedroom. After that, well, it gets a little hazy." I spoke evenly, even though my heart was hammering and I was finding it difficult to keep my voice from breaking.

"Well, do you remember what time that was at?" Nick asked.

"5:53," I answered confidently, "I remember looking at my clock and wondering when we were going to eat dinner."

Nick pulled out a file and a pen, and jotted down a few words. As he did this, I shifted towards the edge of the bed. Nick's head snapped up.

"What are you doing?" he asked quickly, rising slightly out of his chair.

I paused. "Um, I'm going to the bathroom, do you mind?" I was about to slip out from under the sheet when I realized something was off.

Suddenly, I realized what it was. I couldn't move my legs. I glared accusingly at Nick.

"Why can't I move my legs?" I demanded hotly, trying and failing to slide off the bed.

To my complete surprise, Nick's eyes welled up with tears.

Pussy.

"Kate," Nick said in a low, sympathetic voice, and all of a sudden, I didn't want to know what he was going to say. "Kate, the reason you were brought into the hospital was because you had been shot in the back."

Gradually, it dawned on me. "Oh, please, God, no. Oh, please, oh please, no."

I was paralysed from in my legs.

Trying to prove that he was wrong, that it wasn't true, I wildly tried to stand up, and, a moment later, I was on the hard, unforgiving ground, racked with sobs of grief.

In a flash, Mr. Stokes was at my side, lifting me back into my bed. He sat beside me, quietly soothing me. Slowly but surely, the tears stopped, and I could feel myself slowly falling into an unsettled slumber, Mr. Stokes' warm hands cupping mine.


	3. Awkward Meeting

A/N: I apologize that this chapter took a while... I had a minor writer's block... This chapter is a bit more upbeat than i would have liked for a supposed "angst-y" type story, but i had to have something upbeat... i was getting depressed myself...So just bear with me, you angst-liking-people... There is some yet to come...

A few hours later, I groggily woke up after a long, uneasy sleep that had left me more upset and exhausted than before. The room was dark and creepy, but not silent. Under the door that I presumed led to the bathroom was a slit of light where I could hear sounds of movement. The hairs on the back of my neck were up, and I couldn't help but think that it was the killer coming back to get me.

To stop my mind from scaring itself more, I decided to go and check it out. Which led me to another problem: how exactly was I going to do that? I peered around in the darkness, looking for a wheelchair of some sort. I spied the visitor's chair beside me.

Bingo.

It may not have had wheels, but it could work. Gingerly, I managed to slide onto it using only my arms.

Wow, I thought cynically, at least my arms will get ripped…

As a second thought, I grabbed a glass vase off of the night table. For protection, or something.

After a shaky start of me almost falling off of the chair, I managed to, ungainly or not, make it over to the door.

Wiping my sweaty palms on my hospital dress, I clamped my fingers on the brass doorknob, took a deep breath, and swung the door open, quickly raising the vase in what I hoped looked like a somewhat threatening posture, which I realized later, was kind of dumb seeing as how I was paralyzed from the waist down.

A man was standing behind the door, he back to me. He must have sensed something, because, as soon as the door was opened, his head swung around. The tips of his spiky brown hair were bleached blonde, and shone in the harsh light.

"Shit!" the man exclaimed, and I heard a zipping sound.

Oh.

I felt like an idiot.

_I thought I heard some curious sounds coming from the bathroom… _I could already hear the conversation that was bound to happen on why I opened the door in the first place.

I could feel heat running up my neck, and my face was burning. Before my mind could react, my mouth was sputtering out apologies. I tried to back out of the room, but, yet again, I was not used to not being able to use my legs. I pushed away from the door frame too hard, and, before I could grab at anything else, I was falling backwards. The hard, linoleum floor which had been so easy to slide on suddenly was not so awesome. The back of the chair cushioned the impact, but it still knocked the wind out of me.

The chair unceremoniously tipped sideways, and I was violently dumped out. I rolled away for several paces, landing spread-eagle on my back next to the bed.

As I quickly tried to recompose myself, I felt more than heard through vibrations on the floor, the man walking towards me.

His concerned brown eyes stared down at me over a long, narrow nose, a small smile playing on his thin lips.

"Uh, hi." I greeted awkwardly. "A little help, please?" I reached my hand up, and, after a moment's hesitation, he grasped it, and hauled me onto the bed.

"Hi," I repeated, once the man had brought over the ugly chair and assembled his lanky body in it. "I'm Kate."

"Greg," the man introduced. We sat there in self-conscious silence, waiting for the other to speak.

Just as I thought my head might explode because of the tension filling up in the room, someone rapped on the door. The silence broke, along with the tension. Greg stood up to go let the person in, and I collapsed back onto my pillow.

_Wow_, I thought bitterly, _could that have been any more awkward_?

It had been around six o'clock in the morning when the whole bathroom scenario had occurred, and as hard as I tried, I couldn't fall back to sleep after that. A few hours later, I was sitting up in my bed, staring at the tray on my lap that held my lunch: 3 banana muffins covered in plastic wrap. There really was no good food in the hospital cafeteria, but I had to eat something. I know three may sound like a lot, but there wasn't much else to do other than eat.

Carefully, I selected one of the 3 muffins, and unwrapped it. I examined it closely, and was about to take a bite when a thought occurred to me. Before I could think about why I would do this, other than the fact that I was bored out of my mind, and couldn't stop thinking about my dead family, and really didn't know what was going to happen to me once I left the hospital, I shoved the whole muffin into my mouth.

I don't know if you knew this, but it is, in fact, possible, to shove a whole muffin into your mouth.  
Just as I was starting to think about how hard it was going to be to chew it, the door creaked open, and in strode Greg.

Oh, great.

Me, looking like a fool, again.

"''I" I garbled through the muffin that was clogging my mouth, a thick spray of crumbs shooting out of my mouth.

"Uh... If you don't mind me asking: what are you doing?"

"Ea'ing uh mu'in,"came the jumbled response.

I was surprised when he nodded, and said: "oh, I see."

It took me a few minutes to digest the wretched baking, and, as soon as I did, Greg started talking:

"Okay, I know you just found out about your family, but it has been nearly 4 weeks since it happened, and we have to know what you saw or heard that night. I'm sorry that we have to pressure you so much," Greg added hastily.

"I understand. But I already told you, all I get when I try to remember what happened is a bunch of blurry images," I sighed heavily. Suddenly, I wasn't so hungry anymore. I clunked the tray onto the bedside table.

When I looked back at Greg, his eyes held the most pathetic, pining look I had ever seen. They looked like two doors that opened directly to his soul. It was rather unnerving.

"Alright, alright, I'll try," I said, defeated by that one look.

The doors two his soul shut and a half-smile brightened his face. I smiled in return before I could catch myself.

Damn, this guy was good.


	4. New Friends & Old Memories

A/N: Ok, first off, I would like to thoroughly apologize for not posting in forever. I have had about 10 different projects due, half of them in French. And that's not including the school play. Not to make excuses or anything. I just wanted you guys to understand why I haven't posted in a LONG time. I hope that, during the summer holiday, I will be able to post a LOT more often. Thank you to the people who still read & review my stuff even if the posting schedule is, well, simply put, erratic.

A few hours later, Greg strode into the room, a pretty pleased look on his face.

"What are you so happy about?" I asked warily. "Did you finally get that nurse to agree to go out with you?"

His face fell slightly. "No, not quite. I'm still working on that." He paused. "I knew you were bored, so I brought this for you." He pulled something from his back pocket. My iPod.

"My supervisor said it would be okay if I brought it to you." He set gently down on my bedside table. "I checked out your playlist on the way over here. You've got some good songs on there."

"Really? You think so? Well, I not surprised that you like a lot of them. My ex downloaded most of them." I reached over, and picked up the thin, black device. Fiddling with the earphones, I looked up at Greg. He had a troubled look on his face.

"What?" I asked, a little surprised. Greg didn't exactly come across as someone who got troubled easily.

"Huh? Oh, nothing. I was just thinking." He quickly changed the subject back to music. "So, what's your favourite band?"

I thought for a moment. "Definitely either the Killers, or Oasis."

Greg tsked playfully. "Metallica all the way."

I made a face. "You have got to be kidding me."

The conversation continued lightly, although whenever something even slightly related to my family came into it, Greg quickly changed the topic to something completely different.

Secretly, I was glad he did. I don't think that I could have handled it.

After we had exhausted all of our topics, Greg got up and stretched.

"Well, it's definitely time for me to be going." He took a scrap of paper and a pen out of his pocket, and scribbled something.

"What is that?" I asked.

"My cell number." He put it down on the bedside table. "Call me if you need anything, even if you just need to talk."

He walked over to the door, and, with a quick wave goodbye, he was gone.

Suddenly, I felt very lonely. To keep myself company, I flicked my iPod on, and stuck an ear bud into my ear.

I scrolled down to my "Fave Songs Of All-Time" playlist, and clicked. The slow melody of the song "Forever Young" started.

Humming along, I laid back, and tried to get comfortable. I shut my eyes, and instantly, I could feel sleep's warm darkness envelop me like an old friend.

I gradually feel asleep, the slow melody of "Forever Young" drifting through my thoughts

This was IMPOSSIBLE. I could not remember a single thing. Me, trying to remember what happened that night was comparable to trying to fit together a 1000 piece jigsaw puzzle that had at least half of the pieces lost around the house.

I had woken up with a determined heart, the need to find out what happened to my family stronger than ever.

I decided to start from the beginning, and try to put the story together piece by piece.

Alright. So, I got home at around 4:00, and went up to my bedroom to try to finish my homework. At 5:53, I was wondering when dinner was.

This is where it got foggy.

For several minutes, I tried every way I could think of to try to remember, but to no avail.

Time to use a different tactic. _What would I do? Don't think about what you did do at that moment; think about what you would do on any random occasion._

Okay, well, that's easy. I would go down stairs, and check what the hold up was.

Slowly, at about the same speed of a history class, I was starting to get that feeling of remembering something that's been in the dregs of your memory for at least a few a few years.

_I was walking towards the stairs leading downstairs, a slight frown on my face. It had been a long day at school. A few days prior, I had broken up with my boyfriend, and it was still a bit awkward in class. Okay, a lot awkward._

_I padded silently down the stairs on grass-stained socks into the living room. Cartoons were playing on the TV, and I was surprised that my little brother, Lucas, wasn't occupying the room. I frowned slightly, and moved into the hallway connecting to the kitchen. _

_I could smell some sort of Italian cuisine from behind the kitchen door, but I didn't hear any pots or pans clanking, which made my frown deepen. _

_My family was simple, and, every night, we repeated the same routine. As I continued walking to the kitchen, I felt the hairs on the back of my neck. I tried to shake it off, but the feeling persisted. _

_I groaned inwardly. I hated suspense, and, right now, it was killing me. I jogged the last few meters to the kitchen, and shoved the door open._

"_Mom, what's--,"I stopped mid-sentence, too horrified to talk, or even move._

_My mom was lying on her side on the ground beside the table, surrounded by a puddle of blood. One of her arms were outstretched, as if, even in death, she was trying to escape. _

_Lucas was sitting in his chair, his lifeless eyes staring accusingly directly at me, his face a portrait of confusion and fear._

_I stood there, paralyzed, too scared to move. I couldn't move closer to my family's corpses, but I couldn't just leave them there. As I looked on the scene in indecision, I saw my mom's hand move. My heart leapt, and I rushed over to her side, almost slipping in the blood._

"_Mom?" I whispered in a shaky voice. "Mom?"_

"_Kate!" she gasped, her breath wheezing in her throat. A bit of blood dribbled from her lips, and I had to force my eyes away, instead focusing on her eyes._

_I instantly regretted it. There was a deep pain there, and a deep sadness that made me want to cry, or run away. I would probably end up doing both._

"_Kate, get out of here…There's a man--". More blood sputtered out of her mouth, and a bit of it sprayed onto my shirt. _

_Suddenly, my mom's eyes widened. Her breath became shallow and rapid. She reached her arm out, and grabbed my hand in a death grip. As suddenly as it all began, it was over. Her eyes held a final dazed look, as if she was looking past me, into a place I couldn't follow her to. Her hand loosened, and her chest stilled._

"_Mom? I repeated in shock. I could feel warm tears running down my face, and dripping off of my chin, mingling with my mother's blood. _

_There was a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach, the feeling you get when you are about to bawl your eyes out._

_I lifted my hands to cover my face, but they were drenched in blood…_

I gasped and sat up, shaking all over. I could feel that my cheeks were damp. I quickly checked for blood on my hands before I wiped my face.

_Okay, Kate, you have to tell Greg what you remember_, I thought. Looking around, I spotted my weathered wheelchair that had been given to me for my stay at the hospital. After my little stunt with the visitor's chair, they had decided to give me something that wasn't going to paralyze me even more.

I maneuvered into the chair as quickly as I could, which, really wasn't that fast at all. I wheeled over to the door, and cracked it open.

Greg was standing in the hall, his back to me.

I was about to call out, but then I realized that he was in a heated conversation with somebody else. I edged around the door a bit more to see the other person's face. It was Mr. Brass, the detective.

Of course, doing the right thing, and announcing my presence, was the complete opposite of what I was actually going to do.

The two men's conversation floated down the hall. I managed to catch the last bit of what Mr. Brass was saying.

"…is ridiculous. We need her to remember something, and soon. This amnesia is lasting too long, if you ask me. She wasn't shot in the head. I think that she is protecting someone… he boyfriend, maybe."

I could feel the familiar warmth of anger spreading through my body. I pushed it down, kjnowing that if it got the better of me, I would lose my cover.

I leaned in closer to hear Greg's response.

"Ex-boyfriend, actually. And I don't think she is protecting anyone, Brass. Her family was murdered, don't you get that? There have been cases where the brain blocks out the stuff it doesn't want to remember, and, well, if you ask me, I sure as hell wouldn't want to remember the massacre of my family. You don't know her, not like I know her. She wants to know what happened to her family a helluva lot more than us. She's not going to get a pay raise if she finds out who did. She's going to have this hanging over her for the rest of her life. So, just leave her alone!" He stormed past Brass, knocking him in the shoulder, and continued down the hallway.

I was shocked. Nobody had ever stood up for me like that before. And to think, Mr. Brass held a more senior job in the police force, and Greg _still_ stood up for me.

I was about to roll back into my room when Mr. Brass caught sight of me.

_Shit._

A surprised look crossed his face, directly followed by an embarrassed one. He turned on his heel, and followed Greg down the hall.


	5. The Boyfriend Factor

A/N: I'm going to keep it simple: I must apologize. It has been a LONG time since I have posted... My life as been crazy... you wouldn't believe.

Again, SORRY!

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. That is, until a certain ex-boyfriend decided to turn up.

As I sat there, staring idly up at the ceiling, and the fly buzzing around it, I heard a tentive knock at the door.

My heart leapt, and I quickly looked down, hoping to see Greg, my only escape from this personal hell.

When I realized that it wasn't him, my heart fell. Silently, I scolded myself: _"Stop acting like love-sick girl. He has a job. Besides, if you never expect anything, you'll never be disappointed."_

Pushing away those thoughts, I looked up at the visitor with a blank face. It actually took me several seconds to realize who it was.

"Brandon?!" I exclaimed, losing my carefully constructed mask of indifference.

Brandon was of average height and had an athletic body; sinewy and lanky rather than buff. He had wavy, light brown hair that had a sun-kissed glow that had a perfectly wind-swept quality to it, and gorgeous deep blue eyes. In one word, he was a babe.

"Hey, Kate," he greeted softly, slipping quietly into the room in skater-shoe-clad feet.

Looking like he just stepped out of the pages of a Converse brand magazine, he padded softly towards my bed, and sat down in the guest chair.

Gathering my wits, I spluttered out: "W-what, uh, what are you _doing _h-here?"

Up until then, I had never really given any thought as to why none of my friends from school had visited me in the hospital, but, I mean, hey, I had other things to deal with.

But, now that I was thinking about it, I could feel a tight ball of anger in my stomach.

"_Whoa, Kate, just …calm down. Let him give you an explanation."_

"Well, there was a rumor around school that you had woken up, and, well, I thought I should come and see you," he said. "I'm really sorry about what happened, and I want you to know that I'll be here for you."

I could easily tell that he was uncomfortable in this situation.

And that is when I realized it.

Before this ordeal, I would have reached out and held his hand to show that I appreciated his effort, or, at least, I would have felt bad for him.

But I felt… nothing. There was nothing there. Not even cold unconcern. It was as if someone had shut off my emotions. I felt as dead as my family.

No sooner had this realization hit me like a passing train than the door was thrown open, and in stormed in a PO'ed-looking Mr. Brass, followed by an uneasy-looking Greg.

"Brandon Othelleo?" he asked rather aggressively. He strode over to the chair, and stopped about a hair's width away from getting a restraining order from Brandon.

"Um, can I help you?" Brandon asked quizzically, half-rising from his chair.

"You are wanted for questioning in possible relation to the murders of the Kelly family," he answered officially.

Before Brandon could get a word in edgewise, I exclaimed: "Are you crazy? No, honestly, do you have a history of mental illness?! Brandon wouldn't do anything to hurt me, or my family!"

"Evidence says otherwise," he said shrewdly, acting the part of the cold bastard that he was. "Now, we can either do this the easy way, or the hard way." He reached for the handcuff hanging off his belt.

"No! I mean, no. I'll come." Brandon backed down quickly. He quickly glanced back at me as Mr. Brass hustled him out of the room. "Kate, believe me, I had NOTHING to do with this!"

"I know you didn't!" I knew that I had no chance to reason with Mr. Brass anyways, so I didn't chase him. Instead, I wheeled on Greg.

"WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?! I TOLD YOU THAT WE BROKE UP, NOT THAT HE SAID HE WAS GOING TO KILL MY ENTIRE FAMILY! HOW COULD YOU POSSIBLY GET THOSE TWO CONFUSED? WHAT THE HELL EVIDENCE DO YOU HAVE ON HIM?!" I blasted. I was breathing heavily, and I could hear the frantic "beeepbeepbeep" of my heart from the monitor beside my bed. But I didn't care. They basically just arrested one of my closest friends. And, oh man, I was pissed.

"KATE! Calm down! Brass is just covering all of his bases. It was new information that you two had broken up! I can't even count how many cases when it was the boy--"

I cut him off. "YEAH, WELL, GUESS WHAT? HE DIDN'T DO IT!"

Greg valiantly trying to calm me and resolve the situation, but there was no way I was going to let him get away with this.

"GET OUT! JUST-GET-OUT!!" I yelled. I could feel my blood pressure rising, and the hot tears flooding down my face. I was scared, and confused, and sad. Actually sad doesn't even begin to cover it. It's like saying 9/11 was just "sad".

Greg finally realized that he was going to get nowhere, so, silently, he left the room.

Staring after him, I suddenly remembered how much I was looking forward to his visit so I could tell him about when I had remembered from the murders.

_Too late._

It must have been around midnight when I saw the light of the hallway shine a beam of light across the floor and the quiet shuffling of Croc-covered feet.

Of course, it was a lot more obvious to me because I was underneath my bed, instead of on it, like a regular person.

When I was little, I was never scared of a monster under my bed. Underneath my bed was a safe haven to me. Even though it was immature, and impractical, it made me feel better, and that was all that mattered.

"Kate?" I heard Greg's voice echo hollowly throughout the room. "Where are you?"

"Down here, under the bed."

Without hesitation, I saw a pair of knees join Greg's lime-green Crocs, closely followed by his body, and he rolled under the bed to join me.

Glancing around at the comforter, the numerous pillows, and several of the paper thin sheets, Greg grinned, and his entire face lit up.

"Nice pad. Love the design."

I giggled along with Greg. We both knew that it was a weak joke, but we didn't care. I was just relieved that he wasn't angry about my earlier outburst.

I opened my mouth to apologize, but Greg, rather awkwardly, raised his hand to stop me.

"It's cool. I'm not angry."

I could tell that he was being sincere, so I dropped it.

Suddenly, I remembered what I was going to tell him.

"Greg, I remembered a bit of what happened the day when… um…" I kind of just left it hanging, hoping that Greg would get what I was trying to get across to him.

He didn't disappoint.

"Okay. Do you want to tell me about it, or would you rather write it out…?"

I gave him a "don't-be-an-idiot" look, and started with my recollection.

As closely as I could remember, I told what I had seen. When I finished, Greg didn't say anything, and I didn't want him to.

And so, we just laid there, in a companionable silence, letting the full weight of my words settle in.


	6. Answers

"Kate

"Kate?" I heard Greg whisper after about 10 minutes of silence.

"Mhmm?" I mumbled back, unwilling to move even my mouth, in case it wrecked the perfect balance of comfort that I was in.

"Why did you and Brandon break up?"

Crap. So much for not moving. My back was turned to him, and this was a conversation that needed eye contact.

Suppressing a groan, I turned to face him. "Why do you want to know?"

He had a thoughtful look on his face. "Well, right now, I could say that I need to compare it to the reason that he gave us. That is partly truthful, but, in all honesty, I actually just want to know."

I was trying to think of some evasive technique that would be good enough for the quick-minded CSI would accept, when his voice cut through my thoughts:

"It's up to you if you want to tell me…but I just really want to know."

The sincerity of his voice was almost enough to make me burst out into tears, but that would have been ridiculous, so, instead, I cleared my tightening throat, and began my story:

"Me and Brandon were the closest of friends since before we can even remember. When we were little, people always thought that we were brother and sister, we were together so often. As we got older, our feelings towards each other changed, puberty or something, and we started going out. It was the best, I mean, I was going out with my best friend. But then, one day, it all changed: We were on this one trip with our school to Salt Lake City, to go see "the second saltiest lake in the whole world", or whatever, and, naturally, a ton of people went to skip out on school, including me and Brandon. We did all of the touristy stuff, and it turned out to be a lot of fun.

Anyways, when we got back to the hotel afterwards, a bunch of senior guys with fake IDs went to the liquor store down the street, bought a shit-load of booze, and snuck it back to their rooms. Everyone who was anyone went to the party that followed, and, seeing as how I was the senior basketball team's top scorer's GF, I was there. It was a lot of fun, for the first hour or so, everyone was just having a good time and chilling out. After a while, though, some of the older guys were getting a little rowdy, especially this one guy named Jay, who also played on the senior basketball team. I never really liked the way he put Brandon down about how he was the smallest player on the team, with gay jokes and such.

Brandon had gone to the bathroom down the hall, because the one in the room was "occupied", if you know what I mean. I had been waiting outside in the hall for him, to catch a breather, when I felt someone's arms come around me from behind. I thought it was someone joking for a second, but then I felt them start to kiss my neck. I tried to push them off, but they had pinned my arms."

I felt Greg tense up beside me, and his eyes were wide in terror.

"Don't worry," I quickly assured, "before anything like _that _happened, Brandon came out of the bathroom, and once, he saw what was going on, came tearing down the hallway. I'll skip the details, but, the gist is that Brandon got beaten up, _bad, _because of me. He spent 2 months in the hospital.

After that, he was distant towards me. Whenever I tried to talk to him, he completely blocked me out. Once, when I was trying to get him to talk to me, like we did before any of this happened, he slapped me. After that, I knew that it was time to break it off." I sighed. "Things aren't the same as they used to be, but they are becoming less awkward."

Greg didn't say anything when I finished. I could tell that he was trying to process it all, which was fine with me. My eyes were starting to get a little bit droopy because of sleep deprivation, but I kept them open, wanting to see all of the facial expressions flitting across his face.

After about a minute, his face smoothed out. I could tell that he was keeping something hidden behind that blank canvas, but I couldn't tell what.

"Can I ask you something now?" I said, keeping my eyes on his face.

He looked surprised for a second, but then he flashed a smile. "Ask away."

"Have you ever loved someone who didn't love you back?"

I could easily tell that he was expecting something like "Where is your hometown" or something. I could see a pained expression in his eyes. He was silent for a minute. His mouth was twitching like he wanted to tell me, but his eyes had gone hard as rock. As I was watching his eyes, I saw something break.

"Yes, I have." Greg breathed, so quietly that I would have thought I imagined it, if not for the slight movement of his lips, and the feeling of his soft breath on my cheek. "She works with me at the crime lab. She is beautiful and smart and…" His eyes took on a hazy quality, as if he was lost in his thoughts.

I quietly cleared my throat, and his eyes snapped back to the present. "… And completely in love with someone else." He suddenly looked a lot older, his eyes showing a maturity that I hadn't noticed before.

"What does she look like? You know, in case I happen to see her around," I said softly, hoping to learn more about this mysterious woman who had captured the heart of my new friend.

"Well, she has long, dark brown hair that is almost always tousled from working over-time, but it suits her. She has chocolate coloured eyes that seem to look right into your very soul; sometimes it seems like she knows you better than you know yourself. She has this funny smile that just makes me want to make her laugh all of the time, just so I can see it. Ever since I met her, 6 years ago, I knew that I loved her. Sometimes, it even seems like she might love me." That far-away look had come into his eyes again, and, if I looked really closely, I thought that I could see something glistening in his eyes, but I couldn't be sure.

He sighed, and shook his head, as if to shake away all of the memories clogging his mind. "But, really, who am I kidding?"

I was confused. Greg didn't seem like the type of guy who would just sit back and let someone else take his girl. I wanted to ask him why he didn't do something about it, but something in his face told me that I should give the guy a break.

"Is she working on the case?" I asked, a plan forming in my mind. If I could somehow talk to her and convince her that Greg is her man…

Greg shot me a surprised look. "Um, yeah. Why?"

"I was just wondering… What is she doing on the case? Ballistics, or something?" I asked, using one of the few words that I remembered from some crime show on television.

Greg looked uncomfortable for a moment. "Well, she, um…"

"What?"

"Well, she ,er, processed your father's, um, body," he stuttered. This was clearly one of the last subjects he wanted to talk about.

I had only been half-listening to what he was say, as I was planning my speech for Greg's dream girl, but those thoughts were shoved into the very farthest corner of my mind.

"My dad?" I asked my mouth pretty much moving by its own accord. "Where did you find him?"

Greg gave me a wary look, like I was one of those homeless people that are mentally unstable and may attack at any time. "We, um, found him at the bottom of the stairs, about 5 feet from where the paramedics found you.

My mind was reeling. My dad, my dad…He hadn't been in my memory.


End file.
